


Change of Career

by Daegaer



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Assassins, Gen, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-09
Updated: 2005-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Brad Crawford wakes up far from all he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change of Career

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Tosca's Kiss' birthday.

He thought he could move his head. Just a little, though the pain was horrific. Once, slowly, he blinked.

 _He's coming round. Give me the hypodermic_.

The light was different. It flickered gently, rather than burning down from overhead. He was thirsty, very, very thirsty.

"Awake again? I don't have time for this. This button in your hand - you can administer morphine, do you understand? Here, let me show you -- that's better, back to sle--"

The light moved. It started on one wall and crept round to another. The fog in his mind parted long enough to realise that this was daylight. Time was passing. The pain in his side was dull, but sharpened as he woke. He pressed the button, and the pain receded, allowing him to sink back into sleep. He did not press the button, and managed to wake fully, and rise from the bed.

He stared at the button in confusion. He remembered both courses of action, yet had done neither. It was too difficult to hold both in his mind. He pressed the button.

 

* * *

 

"Do you know where you are?"

He looked up. The light had been creeping across the walls.

"Hospital," he said, wondering how his voice had got so hoarse.

"After a manner. Let's take away your pacifier, shall we?"

He panicked as the button was taken from his hand. He needed it. They shouldn't take it--

"You don't need it. But you can have it back if you're good. You have to promise to be a good boy, Agent Crawford. Concentrate."

The man who was talking to him leaned forward and was suddenly a girl. She smiled, and the Scandinavian blonde curls and blue eyes were a Chinese sharp, straight fall of black hair and amused dark-brown eyes.

"Confusing, isn't it? That's what you get for taking morphine, you greedy boy. And for having no mental defences whatsoever." She sat on the edge of the bed, put one finger under his chin and closed his jaw with a snap. "Do you remember killing my friend?"

"No," he said.

Images flashed past in his mind. City streets, police officers, cars with flashing lights. Diplomats, he thought. Something to do with diplomats -- he knew suddenly he had to think of something else, anything else. Dogs. When he was seven he'd been given a dog --

"Oh, I think you remember," she said softly. She stood up and paced back and forth. "We should have killed you all. But you're an interesting man, Agent Crawford. Did anyone ever tell you that you dodge bullets? And not in a metaphorical way? Well, most of them." Her smile was cold and in no way reassuring. "Don't think about it just now. Think about this instead: Do you remember killing _your_ friends?"

He was going to vomit. He remembered no such thing, no such thing, not the weight of the pistol as it fired, nothing-- She dropped the button on the bed.

"You know, they say revenge is a dish best served cold. Frankly, I've never seen the point in waiting. Drug yourself stupid, if that's what you want." She walked away, calm, collected.

"Who--" he managed, past the nausea as images flooded back.

She paused, one hand on the door.

"To you? Ms Lin. Goodbye for now, Agent Crawford."

 

* * *

 

"You can't go back."

Ms Lin was sitting on the window-sill, her face very calm and still. She had her head turned away, all her attention on whatever was outside the window. He thought he could get to her, force her to take him out of here-- He blinked. She was leaning against the doorframe.

"You think like there's no one listening," she said. "Use your brain for more than shouting for a moment. You turned on your own people, shot your own partner--"

"No," he whispered.

"As you like. They'll just welcome you back with open arms. No one will ask where you've been all this time. They'll just brush your flirtation with mass murder under the carpet. You're a very good shot, by the way, Agent Crawford. You made it a lot easier for us to get away."

"Bitch."

"So people tell me. Why fight this? You can't go back, you have to fit in _somewhere_."

Not with her. Never with her. He pressed the button and then whined as she was by him, prising it from his fingers with stronger hands than he'd expected.

"Enough of this. You'll be trained by us. You'll work for us. First lesson, withdrawal's more of a bitch than I am."

 

* * *

 

"Where _am_ I?" he said, looking in astonishment at the mountains framed by the window.

"Austria. You walked onto the plane of your own free will. It was harder to walk you off again of your own free will, but only because of the blood loss."

"You shot me," he said, frowning.

"Good, you remember. I dug the bullet out as well. It wouldn't have done to set off too many alarms in the airport. And then we gave you the best of medical attention. Just in time, too. Sergei was getting very tired of holding you together." She was by him, without any noise of feet crossing the intervening space. "You killed--"

"Your friend," he said. "You already said." He had an uncomfortable image of a very young face surrounded by blonde curls.

"Yes. More to the point, you killed my pyrokinetic. That would have looked bad. Very bad. How fortuitous I had a nice new precognitive to bring back to make good my loss."

"I'm not -- what you say."

She laughed. It sounded like real humour. "Oh, please. You have your little hunches, that always turn out to be correct. You boxed for your college and never got so much as one fist in the face. You make bizarre, micro-second decisions about how to move in a gunfight. How far _can_ you see?" She laughed again. "Into the future, not without your glasses?"

He didn't answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the mountains. They were beautiful. They looked cold. He'd need more than a hospital gown and slippers.

"Considerably more," she said. "We've been over this before," she said at his look of surprise. "I'm a telepath. You cannot hide your thoughts from me. You are a precognitive. The sooner you accept that the better. You've made a good physical recovery. You'll be ready to start your training soon."

It was all nonsense. There was no such thing as telepathy, outside of science fiction. He ignored the slow smile spreading across her face. He didn't want any of his secrets and memories parroted back to him today. He rested his head against the cold glass. All he wanted was to go home.

"This is home for the moment. If it helps, I can probably find you a Big Mac."

"No, thank you, Ms Lin." He'd stood up straight. He'd learned to be polite. "Does 'home' have a name?"

"This is Rosenkreuz," she said. "It's a training facility for Eszett. That'll all be explained in due course. You're older than the usual students, but don't make the mistake of thinking that gives you an advantage. You're like a naked child dropped into the shark pool. At least you won't have to be trained in firearms and combat as well. You'll be able to spend that much more time on the vital work."

"You're going to train me to tell the future?" he said, striving for control in his voice. "Then what? You're going to expect me to go out and assassinate politicians for you out of gratitude?"

"Oh, no," she said. "We're going to break you to pieces, Agent Crawford, and put you back the way we see fit. You're going to work for us and do our bidding because you'll _want_ to. You're going to enjoy your new life." She looked at her watch and sighed. "I've wasted enough time. You start tomorrow. Get some rest." She patted his arm. "You're not Agent Crawford any more, Brad. Welcome to Eszett."

He waited till the door closed, his eyes on the mountains. Their tops were gold in the setting sun. There was a way out of this. There had to be. He could go along with this "training" for a while; it could give him some advantage. He'd get out of this if he waited for the right opportunity.

He just had to be patient.


End file.
